R achel gave her mother an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Mom. I have to take this call. Excuse me, Dad. Eli.” Thankful for the distraction, she strode down the hallway to her father’s den to use the phone there in private.
“Talk to me,” she said as soon as Reuben picked up.
“LaReese Binet changed her mind again.”
Rachel tapped her fingernail against her teeth as her mind scrambled around this new problem.
“She said she wants to see us tonight,” Reuben continued. “In fact, you should have been there about five minutes ago, but I knew you were at your parents’ place and I held off as long as I dared.”
“That’s okay, you weren’t interrupting much. Polenta, ume dill dressing, matchmaking and Gracie.” She shuddered slightly as she remembered the sound of her sister’s helpless cry. She admired her parents for taking this child in. She knew she couldn’t have done it.
“Pardon me?”
“Never mind. What is the problem now?”
“Mrs. Binet wants to see the quarterly statements of the Barnabas Society. Wants to make sure they’re on the up-and-up.”
“They’ll see that as an insult.” The Barnabas Society was a network of older Southern belles who had been around since after Reconstruction. Well established, well endowed, they had set up a camp for inner-city children, but never said no to extra dollars. Though not at any cost. They did have their Southern pride after all.
“I’ve been in touch with the director. Said he’ll see what he can do.”
“I really don’t know how good a match the donor and recipient are in this case.” Rachel tugged on her earlobe, pacing the carpet. “LaReese likes control but so does Barnabas.”
A faint knock at the door of the study interrupted her train of thought. Frowning, she glanced up. “Yes?”
Eli stood in the doorway, filling it with his height. “Your mother asked me to tell you that they’ll be serving cake and coffee in the gazebo.”
“Thank you. I’ll be with you all in a couple of minutes.” She gave him a tight smile, feeling suddenly awkward. They hadn’t started off on the right foot and that scene with Gracie hadn’t helped.
But he turned on his heel and strode away before she had a chance. It shouldn’t have bothered her, but she had a vague sense of discomfort.
She turned her attention back to Reuben, wondering why she cared what Gracie’s attractive pediatrician thought of her. “Tell Mrs. Binet that I’ll be by in…” She glanced quickly at the grandfather clock in the corner of her father’s study. “About forty-five minutes.”
“I hate to pressure you, Rachel, but could you make it sooner?”
“That is sooner. My goodness, Reuben, she lives right on the edge of Winchester Park. I’ll be lucky to get there that soon by the time I’ve parked and walked up to her condo,” Rachel said. “I just have to say goodbye to my parents. And then I’ll be on the road.”
“Okay, then. I’ll probably be there when you arrive.”
Rachel pressed the button to end the call, biting her lip. Her parents wouldn’t be happy, but there was nothing she could do about it. LaReese Binet was too important to the Foundation. She was a regular contributor and a part of Rachel’s network whenever she needed to pad out a guest list for celebrity events.
LaReese had come into a great deal of money when her husband died and had already been approached by every possible organization that could find her number and pester her. If Rachel did not handle this woman exactly right, LaReese could easily decamp and end up giving her money to the smoothest-talking charlatan that came down the pike.
And there were enough of them. It made Rachel’s blood boil every time she heard of organizations that seemed legitimate but ended up taking up to eighty percent of their client’s money in so-called “administration fees.”
Her parents were already sitting in the gazebo, tall cups of iced tea on the wicker and glass table in front of them, when Rachel rejoined them. Gracie was playing on a large blanket at their feet, looking content and perfectly normal. She smiled up at Rachel, her light brown eyes sparkling in the early evening light. She was adorable—that much Rachel had to concede.
“Excuse me, Mom, Dad, Dr. Cavanaugh.” Her eyes grazed Eli, who was lounging in his wicker chair, swirling the ice cubes in his glass, looking too much at home. “I’m sorry, but I’ll have to excuse myself. Reuben just called. We have an emergency with one of our clients.”
“Oh, honey, why don’t you let him take care of it?” Beatrice turned to her husband. “Charles, talk to her.”
Charles simply shrugged and smiled up at his daughter. “I wish you could stay, dear. We don’t get to see you very often. Gracie hardly knows you.”
“Besides, I have chocolate cake that Francine made just for you,” Beatrice added, her voice taking on a petulant tone. “You know your father and I don’t eat that kind of thing.”
“I’m really sorry, Mom, and I’d love to have some cake but—”
“I’ll pack some up for you.” Beatrice slipped out of her chair, waving at the men to stay in their seats. “I’ll be back in a flash.”
Rachel surreptitiously eased the cuff of her shirt up to catch a glimpse of her watch. She had given herself enough time to say goodbye, but at this rate she would have to risk a speeding ticket to get to LaReese’s place on time. As she shrugged her shirt into place, she caught Eli watching her, a half smile tugging on his lips. She held his gaze as if challenging his humor, but he didn’t even blink, or look away. Rachel wasn’t used to that. Most men were intimidated by her. And she liked to keep it that way.
“I heard that you’ve been talking to LaReese Binet,” her father was saying.
Rachel pulled her attention back to her father, taken aback by his words. Had she spoken LaReese’s name aloud?
“Oh, don’t get all confidential on me,” Charles said with a huge laugh. “Phillip Thewlis told me at the fifteenth hole at the new golf course.” He frowned. “Or maybe it was the fourteenth. I remember he was working his way out of the sand trap and I believe that’s on the fifteenth—no, wait…”
Don’t tap your foot. Don’t fidget.
Charles snapped his fingers. “What am I thinking of—it was the twelfth hole.” He shook his head as if surprised at his own foolishness. “Phillip heard from LaReese’s beloved nephew that she was eager to redeem herself by giving away a bit of the money she inherited when her husband died.”
Rachel would hardly call 2.3 million dollars “a bit” of money. That’s why the personal hand holding. LaReese had been making noises about putting her money into other places, and right now the Noble Foundation needed dollars if they were going to be able to fulfill all the requests they had earmarked for funding.
“Can’t buy redemption, you know,” Charles said sadly.
“I would like to tell her that. God’s love and sacrifice are the greatest free gifts known, or unknown in many cases, to man.”
Impatience with her father’s sermonizing flashed through Rachel, and right behind it, shame. Her father was sincere in his faith. That she didn’t share it wasn’t his fault. In fact, there was the occasional moment when she wished she shared his trust in God.
She glanced at Eli, wondering if her father’s easy mention of God created discomfort in him as well.
He was looking down at his hands, his expression serious as he rubbed the fingers of one hand over the back of the other, again and again. It was then she noticed the long jagged scar that ran from the knuckle of his pinky to the base of his thumb. It was white and puckered, as if it had been poorly